The Hustler
Rating: R (for language and theme)
Summary: Four hundred for the hour, cash first, condom later.
A/N: Short fic inspired by a movie I recently watched.
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Yes, I fuck for money, but I am not a slut. Truth be told, outside of work I haven’t slept with anyone for years, nobody interests me although many have tried. Thanks to good genes from horrible parents, I am mighty fine looking and some may even call me handsome. But its not the looks that attract men and women to me like flock of flies, well not entirely, it is the mystery, the danger, the desire to tame something wild and uncontrollable. Or so I have been told often while I was slamming my cock into willing bodies, cash first of course.
“You don’t talk much do you?”
Bingo. I didn’t bother looking up or replying, keeps them guessing.
“Do...do you want to?”
What? Suck your dick? Pound you senseless? Ride you like a cowboy? Jesus, this was the problem with men, all of them servants to their cocks, obeying its every whim. Where was the bloody romance? But then woman wanted to talk so I prefer cock. Less talking, more fucking.
“Four hundred for the hour, cash first, condom later.” I was not a cheap lay but a safe one.
“Thats a lot of money, are you worth it?” I liked his voice, it was deep and smooth like the merlot he was drinking.
I looked up and stared at the man propositioning me. Damn, he was a looker, dark chocolate eyes, ebony hair, slim waist but wide shoulders and his arms were positively beefy. Then their was his lips, thick, succulent, just made for kissing, biting, sucking. I licked my lips and leaned closer, so close that my lashes were brushing against his cheek. You need to entice them, give them a little taste of what they could have.
“Try me,” I whispered and smiled against his skin, knowing the exact second his breathing hitched and his cock got hard. I straightened and winked.
“Whats your name?” He asked, his voice had lost that swagger and sounded needy. Men were so easy.
“Anything you want it to be.” I answered, "Whats yours baby?”
“Micky,” he replied after a moment. Liar, not that I blamed him, it was the foundation of the trade.
“Well Micky, I am yours to do as you please -” I ran my hand over the inner seam of his Jeans, fingers lightly brushing his cock before moving it across his thigh to his hips where his wallet lay tucked snug inside his pocket. He gripped my hand tight, crushing it. his palm was warm, sweaty, his thumb stroking my skin. My hand looked ridiculously small in his grip. Suddenly I had visions of him sliding his hand over my cock, stroking me slick and then with his mouth, those plump, pink lips stretching around my cock. Fuck, I had a hardon, what was it about this man? I would be very disappointed if he was all talk.
Luckily for me he wasn't. He took out four crisp bills and placed it in front of me. I left a generous tip for bartender and shoved Micky's money inside my pocket.
“You didn’t tell me your name yet,” he said, as we left the bar.
Call me baby, call me whore, call me whatever you want as long as you are screaming something as you come all over me.
“Xiah, call me Xiah."
Man, sometimes, I fucking love my job.
Summary: Four hundred for the hour, cash first, condom later.
A/N: Short fic inspired by a movie I recently watched.
+++
Yes, I fuck for money, but I am not a slut. Truth be told, outside of work I haven’t slept with anyone for years, nobody interests me although many have tried. Thanks to good genes from horrible parents, I am mighty fine looking and some may even call me handsome. But its not the looks that attract men and women to me like flock of flies, well not entirely, it is the mystery, the danger, the desire to tame something wild and uncontrollable. Or so I have been told often while I was slamming my cock into willing bodies, cash first of course.
“You don’t talk much do you?”
Bingo. I didn’t bother looking up or replying, keeps them guessing.
“Do...do you want to?”
What? Suck your dick? Pound you senseless? Ride you like a cowboy? Jesus, this was the problem with men, all of them servants to their cocks, obeying its every whim. Where was the bloody romance? But then woman wanted to talk so I prefer cock. Less talking, more fucking.
“Four hundred for the hour, cash first, condom later.” I was not a cheap lay but a safe one.
“Thats a lot of money, are you worth it?” I liked his voice, it was deep and smooth like the merlot he was drinking.
I looked up and stared at the man propositioning me. Damn, he was a looker, dark chocolate eyes, ebony hair, slim waist but wide shoulders and his arms were positively beefy. Then their was his lips, thick, succulent, just made for kissing, biting, sucking. I licked my lips and leaned closer, so close that my lashes were brushing against his cheek. You need to entice them, give them a little taste of what they could have.
“Try me,” I whispered and smiled against his skin, knowing the exact second his breathing hitched and his cock got hard. I straightened and winked.
“Whats your name?” He asked, his voice had lost that swagger and sounded needy. Men were so easy.
“Anything you want it to be.” I answered, "Whats yours baby?”
“Micky,” he replied after a moment. Liar, not that I blamed him, it was the foundation of the trade.
“Well Micky, I am yours to do as you please -” I ran my hand over the inner seam of his Jeans, fingers lightly brushing his cock before moving it across his thigh to his hips where his wallet lay tucked snug inside his pocket. He gripped my hand tight, crushing it. his palm was warm, sweaty, his thumb stroking my skin. My hand looked ridiculously small in his grip. Suddenly I had visions of him sliding his hand over my cock, stroking me slick and then with his mouth, those plump, pink lips stretching around my cock. Fuck, I had a hardon, what was it about this man? I would be very disappointed if he was all talk.
Luckily for me he wasn't. He took out four crisp bills and placed it in front of me. I left a generous tip for bartender and shoved Micky's money inside my pocket.
“You didn’t tell me your name yet,” he said, as we left the bar.
Call me baby, call me whore, call me whatever you want as long as you are screaming something as you come all over me.
“Xiah, call me Xiah."
Man, sometimes, I fucking love my job.